Love is
by tore-my-yellow-dress
Summary: In the end, becoming Alicia Gardner is the easiest thing in the world. Honeymoon fic.


**A/N- Wow, I have a lot of people to thank for this fic. First, Moni, for her lovely edit that inspired it. Second, Tiff, for her help with the title and with beta'ing parts of it. Third, Josie, because you helped with some of the ideas as well. This fic has a lot of suggestive content, but none of the sexy parts are too graphic, so no worries. This is my Valentine's Day gift to all my fellow AW fans! Love you guys! Keep being lovely!**

**xoxo**

* * *

She slants the pen fluidly by a flick of her wrist, the last letter drawing off in the perfect amount of space. She does it before she can think. She does it and then she stares at it for too long a moment. "Alicia," Will catches her attention, and she looks up at him with an unfocused gaze.

"I'm fine," she assures mildly, the corners of her mouth creeping up. Alicia passes the paper over to the woman helping them and slips her hand into Will's on instinct. "That's just the first time I've written it like that."

Will rubs a thumb across the vining veins spanning her delicate knuckles, quirking one eyebrow.

"On the contract you-

"I know," Alicia cuts in, blowing air between her lips and shaking her head. "It's silly. But that's the first time it's been _real._"

Will releases her grip to wrap his arms around her slender waist and pull her to him, right there in front of the people in the check in line and the woman weighing their bags and _everybody_. "And how did that feel?" he asks her in a low, serious tone.

He's really not joking.

It shows, in little moments like these, how he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's Will, so it's not pronounced, and she only knows it because she knows him like the back of her hand_. _He's still a hotshot managing partner and he still has some semblance of prideful ego, but it is times like these, when he looks at her and he's gauging her response like she might take off running in the other direction. Like she might leave him forever, fall through his fingers like sand. Still, to this day, how often she's ran is not in direct proportion to the amount of times she's stayed. But the last time was the last time.

She fully knows she'll spend the rest of her life proving this to him.

Motivated by the thought, she leans in to press a quick kiss to the edge of his jaw, whispering open and honestly.

"It felt _good. _Writing my name on a receipt-" she cocks her head, eyes dancing "-has _never _felt so good."

He relaxes his expression, chuckling softly, and for a moment she thinks he might spin her around or do something terribly cliché. But then the baggage checker waves to them with printed tickets, points in the right direction, and then _congratulates them._ And Alicia wonders if it's the destination on their itinerary, their body language, or the fact she still has on heavy makeup. Lips a maroon, eyes charcoal. Her hair is still in the twist it's been in since earlier, before. It feels like a lifetime has passed, not a few hours.

"Thank you so much," Will responds for them both when Alicia still hasn't said a thing, and she snaps to, face heating in chagrin. She's drifting in and out of trance.

_Cloud nine,_ she thinks. _This must be cloud nine._

_/_

Alicia wakes halfway through, to the buzz of the plane's engines, and Will's arms are curled around her in such a way that she's never felt more comfortable in her life. She looks out the window and only sees the bleakness of the water beneath them, and even if it has the ability to make her squeamish, it doesn't. She feels safe.

Inhaling deeply, she moves slightly to settle deeper, the seatbelt cutting into her middle, obnoxious. Will's breathing is uneven on her crown, conscious.

"Have a good sleep?" he rumbles, voice unused.

Alicia nods, all lazy, drawing small circles on his forearm wrapped along her shoulder. "We still have a ways to go," she asserts, and he hums in confirmation.

The first class seats are luxurious, enough space not to be bothered. She basks, looking down at her left hand and lifting it up to admire the way it glimmers and gleams in the faint rays. The diamond sparkles in a breathtaking way, but its simplicity is what is more appealing to her, not gaudy in the slightest. The weight of it on her finger is natural. Will eyes it alongside her, twisting to press a gentle, adoring kiss to the curve of her neck. "I can't believe you had it for so long," she admits, sweet sorrow seeping into her words.

"It's my grandmother's ring," Will defends mildly. "There was only one person it was ever meant for."

Air catches in the back of her throat, warmth in her chest. He's told her this before, but still. It still makes her head reel, sometimes, how much he's given to her. How much she's taken. "Twenty years is a long time, Will."

Will's mouth downturns, and she can feel him shrug like his next words are simple, like it's just the way things are. And it is, for him. "I get to spend the rest of my life with you, Alicia. _So _worth the wait."

A small, waning smile graces her face, and she snuggles into his chest.

"I love you," she whispers, closing her eyes to sleep again.

/

It's four in the afternoon by the time they arrive, jetlagged and hearts thick. The baggage claim is passed with him and his octopus arms, never leaving her waist, and the interesting thing is, in another lifetime she would have disliked the proximity, would have wanted her own means. But with Will it's always been different, always been like this. She likes having him close to her, and it doesn't feel _clingy_. She loves being held by him. Perhaps because age has softened her. Some days she can feel it in her bones, how despite the joking it _has _been twenty years since Georgetown. They are open and outward, blissfully attached. Every sight is a marker of insuring faith, and she drinks it in greedily, every little detail.

"I still don't know what the game plan is," Alicia reminds him teasingly, pulling her bag along. Admires the way his biceps bulge when he hoists their luggage into the taxi they waived, inclining her head. "But you do."

"But I do," is all Will says, when they slide into the back seat. The atmosphere is different, she realizes, heavy with some kind of meaning. Less than a half hour in the city, and Alicia can already make out why they call it the city of light. The sun is going down and Alicia can make out the top of the Eiffel Tower if she tilts her body the right way. Will gives the driver directions to their hotel in awkward French, and even though she's busy taking in all that she can as they drive, his eyes never once leave her face.

/

"Don't unpack," Will instructs her.

The door shuts behind them with a residual thud, and she strolls into the high dollar suite, the ambiance and the sheets and the crown molding and the temperature, all perfect. She swallows when she opens the windows to see the view, beautiful and pinks and oranges, and when she looks back Will is looking at her like she's the only thing. She's the only thing.

"Will," she murmurs, voice odd to her own ears. It's overwhelmingly perfect. "If you want to wait until we aren't as tired to-

To answer the inquiry he crosses the hotel room in long, hard strides. He kisses her with such fervor it takes her breath away. Riveting in degrees from how it was at the altar, from how it's been, languid and easy, and this is capitulating from the way they have been, from the peace.

He kisses her and it's like lighting a match.

Hands going to the back of her dress to unzip, he's touching every part of her, being slow about it because he's realizing he has all the time in the world, and when he finally lets the dress fall to the ground, he drops down to one knee.

Crawling his hand up her leg, across her ass, and it's shock through her body when she realizes it's all just a little bit of history repeating. "_Will," _she giggles, shaking her head from above him, turning. She runs her hands through his hair when he kisses both her hip bones, when he stops, abrupt. Twining his arms around from the position, intimate and submitting, resting his forehead against the softness of her mid drift and inhaling, as if it's the first time he's been able to breathe.

Alicia knows the change, and her laughter at the show of things quiets.

"Will," she catches his attention, him, looking up at her with those brown eyes, and she doesn't know why she keeps saying his name. He stands on his own two feet, and she wraps her fingers around his forearms, letting her eyes drift shut. She's standing there in nothing but a chemise and he's still dressed, and it's the first time all over again. Alicia sighs.

Will proceeds to bend down with little trouble, and this didn't happen the first time. Picks her up.

Bridal style.

/

When he enters her she makes a sound she didn't know she was capable of.

"Yes," she gasps, tossing her head against the pillows, arching up into his chest. They haven't been together in a week because of last minute arrangements and stress, and it's incredibly tight and filling, and it reminds her of being marked. And she is, isn't she? She's marked.

"Say you're mine," he reads her thoughts, and it's tender right up until it _isn't._

Will nips at her neck sharply, hard enough to leave a purple prickle, and Alicia hisses, fixating him with her mossy stare. "Is that what you want?"

He punctuates the rhythm with a deep, off beat thrust, and Alicia's stomach churns. "You're mine," he growls, and the words should be off putting, but somehow they aren't, all of a sudden. She's wanted to be his for so long, as far back as she can remember. But then there was timing and decisions, and none of it added up right.

But now it does. Now it's perfect, and she's strung out on the feeling, unable to postulate a proper response. He hitches her leg up further onto his waist, angling his hips up, and he knows her body. Her nails dig into his shoulder blades and Alicia tremors, getting hotter and wetter, and she's so close, harsh breaths and weak moans in an alto timbre. Panting, and he's nailing that spot that has her jerking beneath him.

It's so close. She's so close, and she bites her lip so hard it bleeds and makes herself _look _at him. "I'm yours," she croaks.

Then Alicia cries out.

/

They forget to eat, but they do shower, wash away the dirt and grime of ten hours of travel. She rubs off her makeup beforehand to avoid raccoon eyes, and looking at her reflection, she notices how she almost looks younger. Looks blissful.

Maybe it's the afterglow, but she'll take what she can get.

They get the water so hot it fogs the mirrors, makes her skin splatter red. Through the clear curtain she can see how they look; her wet, ebony hair splattered across the tile. He makes love to her again, their chorus echoing off the walls, and after they fall into bed again, together, dripping, and he pulls a blanket up and holds her as tight as he can.

They sleep like the dead, and it's only beginning.

/

She wakes to the sound of her phone buzzing, blinking harshly at the white that filters in through the curtains. "They probably want to know if we got in okay," Will predicts sleepily, nuzzling her shoulder with his stubble. She checks.

It's Owen.

_Have fun, Mrs. Gardner._

Alicia furrows her eyebrows in suspicion. "Just my brother," she snorts, showing him the text. Will hums against her skin, smirking. Then, quick as a fox, he moves away from her, down the bed. The sheets fall away from him and she shivers against the air, suddenly cold in comparison to what it had been the night before. Her hair is still slightly damp, and he's handsy.

"Mrs. Gardner," Will calls her, pressing wet kisses to the insides of her thighs. She opens her legs at the same time he pulls them apart. "Mrs. Gardner, Mrs. Gardner, Mrs. Gardner," he practically sing songs, husky and blithe, still heavy with sleep, but God, if the way he looks at her doesn't get her going in zero to ninety.

Amusement is clear on her features at his words, but then he dips his tongue right into her opening, no nonsense. He eats her out like he's been starving for decades and she's a ripened apple, and noise rips from her, but she doesn't _care_. She's liberated. He's rapturous. It's the best way to wake up.

Best.

/

Eventually, their stomachs begin to concave, and her flesh wasn't literally a meal, even though he plans to make it a necessary construct of his daily diet plan. Room service is prompt, and they share a plate of waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Around the time they're finishing up, Alicia swipes a finger through the white substance and drifts it along _his _inner thighs. Licks it up, relishes the way his fingers weave through the locks of hair. Returns the favor because she c_an._

_/_

They fuck away the jetlag, napping intravenously all through the morning. It's all on Will's schedule, so they don't leave the hotel that first day until the middle of the afternoon. Paris is an exquisite city, and they walk, hand in hand, through the streets crowded with tourists. Deliriously happy.

When they stop at a quaint café for their late meal, the menu translated into English is a blessing. There, the live music drifts into her ears and she's eating off his plate, trying to weasel as many details about the next few days out of him as she can. Beneath the table, their feet play, and Alicia's cells convulse with how much is all still unknown, how she'd been open to giving Will his freedom in planning their honeymoon, but is still itching to _know. _

It's romantic in some obscure way, but she's always been a stickler for planning. And even if that's different with Will, a small, minuscule part of her is still a tad bit annoyed at all the secrecy.

"Why don't I give educated guesses, and you tell me if I'm even _close? _"Alicia suggests. Will snickers, denying her with a shake of the head. Flipping her hair, Alicia rolls her eyes.

"It kills you to give up control," Will observes, pursing his lips like he doesn't already know. After a moment, he leans in and rests his elbows on the table. "I still can't believe you've never been here before."

"Why?" Alicia asks, narrowing her eyes. "Oh, wait. I forget you're the same man who spent eight thousand dollars on a hotel room to sleep with me."

Will shrugs good naturedly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But no, really," Will watches the way she flashes her smile, gets lost in it. "You never did vacations?"

Alicia looks down at the table, pensive. When she looks back up at him, she's only half joking. "Does Disneyland count?"

Will shakes his head in wonder, chuckling.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Alicia murmurs, more serious. It's not that the subject is sensitive, but she's curious as to why his reaction was confusion three months ago, when she told him she'd never been to Paris. Will matches her tone, gauging her, twining their fingers like locks across the metal surface.

"Because," he clears his throat, "you wanted to do so much at Georgetown. And it breaks my heart that you were denied that."

"It's not that I wasn't _allowed _to," she defends, but then softens her tone so as to explain. "I've told you I was pregnant when I married Peter- and because we were saving for hospital bills, we opted to spend a few days in New York as opposed to a Caribbean cruise. We swore we'd find the time later, after Zack was born, but then I got pregnant with Grace. The kids were so little, Will, and it was so incredibly difficult to travel with them. And then Peter ran for State's Attorney, and there was just no _time."_

By Will's mouth tightening, his hand in her own slackens, and it breaks her heart a little. She knows he probably doesn't like hearing about it, even though he sincerely loves her kids. That doesn't change the fact that there was so much before, so much he wasn't a part of. "I know, Leesh. You don't have to explain."

There's a pregnant pause where she doesn't know if he's going to say anything else, but then he stands, offers her his grip. "Will, no," she blushes, looking at the couples on the makeshift dance floor of the sidewalk. "I don't."

"You did two nights ago," he counters.

"I'd had champagne. It's tradition."

He won't back down, though, and the band starts a slower tune, something that makes her heart stutter in her chest. "One dance," he pleads with her, and she goes like butter, easy to cut through. She doesn't _deny_ him this.

Wraps her arms around his neck once they move out far enough, to the center of it all, and it's not so much dancing as swaying.

"My mother was _so _inebriated at the reception," Alicia remembers, making a disgruntled whine. "Can't believe how everything has just flown by."

Will hums in assent.

"What?" Alicia mouths. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Chest to chest, she can feel the way his body puffs up, some silly show of masculinity. It's all instinct, for him. "I want to take you everywhere," he tells her, and then cuts her off when she goes to protest, desperate for her to understand. "No, Alicia, listen. Not because I want to show anybody up, _trust me," _the last two words have an edge to them, mocking.

Because Will Gardner could show Peter Florrick up with his hands tied.

"We don't have to see everything at once, Alicia. But one trip a year, how's that? If you'd even," Will stops, worry in his eyes, "want to?"

Her eyes glisten, and she bites her tongue to steady herself, leans in to whisper the words in his ear. They are true and unfiltered, and she doesn't know how she ended up to have so much when she's lost so much, but she did. She has all she needs.

"I'd go anywhere with you."

/

It's still dark outside when Will shakes her awake, telling her, "Get dressed."

"What?" she whispers groggily, glancing at the alarm clock. She's had five hours of sleep. "Will, what the fuck?"

"Come on," he beckons. "The car is waiting. The traffic won't be as bad the early."

"Car?"

"We have a rental car waiting," he explains, impatient. "Outside."

"You kept me up last night," she accuses, pushing her messy hair behind her ear and rolling over to stand on lug legs, naked.

Will sighs, and she can _tell _he's already had coffee, the bastard. "I _told_ you we needed sleep. You're the insatiable one."

He realizes what he's said three seconds _after _he's said it. "I mean-

"Oh, _no. _I'll remember you said that, Will Gardner."

She proceeds to slam the bathroom door shut, and Will wants to kick himself

God, he's in for it.

/

The air conditioner in the Volvo is on full blast, and Alicia studies the map he'd handed her, the red circles of sharpie ink that smell like chemicals. Turns out, once Will gave her coffee and they were a hundred miles out of the city, her mood had improved tremendously. "Kicking it old school?" she questions, adjusting her sunglasses.

"There's only one way to do a road trip," Will answers haughtily. "And it doesn't involve Map Quest. Besides," he goes on, looking at her from across the car. "I've never had a wife before. I want to see if you fit the stereotype of being a horrible navigator."

She rolls up the map and swats him with it, laughs so hard her stomach cramps.

/

The drive is only supposed to be three hours long, but with all the detours, with all the distractions, it ends up being closer to four. For instance:

The road they are on is encompassed in tall, leaning trees and vines, and all she can see is green and the road ahead of them, and she had no idea France had forests, had no idea until they were suddenly there. It's a bout of silence when she looks over at him, leaves her pulse to the wayward tick of him and his mighty jaw, with his Adam's apple bobbing, and she's thinking of how it would be lean over and lick it- and that's the moment she remembers what she's wearing.

And, okay, maybe _some _of this had been planned out.

Revenge is sweet like heaven, and all it takes is her brushing her hands over her thighs for him to shoot a look in her direction. The dress is wears is navy against her pale skin, and she drags it up quietly. "Leesh," he murmurs, grovel.

The sunlight flits through the trees, casting bright splotches over her skin.

She drags the dress up until her black, lacy thigh highs are in full view. Brushes her fingers over them, a lover's touch. Doesn't look at him, but can hear the way he takes in air like he's suffocating. "What are you doing?" he asks, but he already knows.

Victim to circumstance.

Alicia parts her knees, and slips a hand between her legs.

Will groans, clenching the steering wheel. "Alicia, do you-

"Have on panties?" Alicia lifts her fingers to her mouth, drags her gaze up to sear his, hopes, fleetingly, that they do not crash. She sucks on them, sucks them clean of her juices. "No," she answers low, then speaks slowly, like she's speaking to a child. "Why would I? Wouldn't want to ruin them. Don't you know I'm _insatiable_?"

Will pulls over, so it's four hours instead of three.

/

They stay in a cottage like place near Nantes, and a man who looks like he owns the place greets Will with a bear hug. "William," he speaks, all accent. "So nice to see you again."

"I stayed here," Will explains, after they are tucked up into their room, cozy and quiet. It reminds her of Minnesota. "When I was backpacking through the country."

Two days later, the quiet is oppressive. It's so much different than the booming city, such a small town, and once Alicia thinks she's had about as much as she can handle, Will tells her they'll leave the next day. Still, a part of her enjoys the ability to be left alone to her thoughts, and on that last night Will takes her hand and they travel through a beaten path, right into a clearing with cut grass. She wonders if there's spiders and snakes, but he assures her he'll protect her, and it's chivalrous and so Will, and how she's in love with him, how she loves.

They lay down a blanket and watch the stars, so cliché and overdone, and that's when Will explains better. Straight out of a romance movie, heavy talks and soft kisses. He starts talking and doesn't stop until he's through.

"I kept wondering," Will mutters, her head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her to fight the summer chill. "What it would have been like to have you here with me. I wanted you to be here so bad. It was that summer after, and you'd sent me an invitation for the wedding, and I just," Will swallows hard. "I just ran."

"Still don't know what I was running from," he continues after a moment, the words coming easier. "I just didn't want to think about anything that mattered."

"I'm so-

"No," he stops her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Don't be. I'm glad you're here now." Instead of saying anything else, Alicia maneuvers to straddle him, and his mouth drops open an inch or so. "Alicia, we're in a field."

"Don't care," Alicia tells him smoothly, hands not hesitating to find his zipper, to pull her dress up and push her panties out of the way. "You're my husband, and I don't give a-

/

The next dot on the map just so happens to be a winery.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how she finds herself stumbling into an elevator, déjà vu, Will coming after her, déjà vu, except-

The woman with her blonde curls and her bubblegum popping look-

That's not how it how Alicia recalls it going down _before_.

This part of France is known for its reds, and Will is on his way to winning Husband of the Year if he continues to sweep her off her feet. They'd spent the day on the farm, tasting too much, cheddar and red grapes, jack and green, and Alicia is way more than buzzed, and Will is trying not to fall to the ground when they get back into their hotel for the night- so in the grand scheme of things, bubblegum blonde is the last thing on Alicia's mind.

But something strikes her hard and in the gut, in her alcohol induced haze, how the woman had looked at Will that morning, as she'd handed them a keycard at the front desk, and _why is she going up to_ _their floor? _Alicia wonders. Will has on a ring. Her ring. That she gave him. And this woman, in all her gal, is still looking at Will like he's a piece of meat. Alicia has already lost one husband to a blonde.

_It isn't happening again_, Alicia fumes, drunk.

Blondie looks at Alicia and Alicia looks at Blondie, and in all her adult life, even with Amber and Kalinda, Alicia has never been what one would call a jealous woman. Insecure is the farthest from a label one would stick her with, so the next thing that happens is kind of an outlier for Alicia's entire existence.

She proceeds to kindly grab Will's ass.

Blondie chokes on air.

Will, for all his ungodly oblivious manliness, pulls her in for a kiss, unashamed of the fact the numbers are climbing and there's someone _else _in their presence- Will pushes her up against the wall of the elevator like he did years ago, pushes her legs up around his waist and kisses the hell out of her. Alicia moans loudly, just for the show. Alicia kisses him back, and there's a juvenile and kept part of Alicia that revels in the thrill of the publicity. Thinks, _mine, mine, mine, you stupid blonde bitch, he's mine. _

The other woman practically runs from the elevator when the doors open, but by then Alicia has forgotten she was even there in the first place.

/

Alicia Gardner developed a taste for pistachios when she was huddled over law books and papers, beside him, and now, twenty something years later, she sits across from the same man as they fly down the road, and she cracks them open as if they were candy. She turns the radio dial and pops one in her mouth. Checks her phone.

She can't drink like she did back in the day, at the very least. Even now, there's dull ache in her head that she can't entirely ignore. They stick to the motorways today, and the scenery isn't near as pretty. Grace is texting her to ask if she can back out of going to grandma's and instead go to a friend's, and Alicia is hard pressed to deny she is nervous at the aspect of life going on without her, without them.

The merged firms are still so fragile.

But Will turns up the radio and she's confused right up until she _isn't._

A grin splits her face, drunk on love and some stupid, melting haze, and when she thinks back to how it was with Peter, in the beginning, she knows this is different. Her mother warned her that marrying Will would be the same as with Peter, and Alicia knows it's not true, is assured in this little instant. There wouldn't be any way for it to be even remotely similar. It's not even in the same ballpark.

"Spark up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon sparkling," he sings, off key. Alicia giggles, a foreign sound, bites her bottom lip at the feeling.

"Kiss me," she tries out, only half volume. She's never been a singer, he knows that. Still, he juts out his left hand to take her palm and lift it to his mouth, and she can't stop smiling, even if it makes the headache worse. Will twines their fingers together. They hold there, over the center console.

Alicia looks at the open road before them. The song ends, and Will asks her, "What would we have named a little girl?"

Alicia goes blank.

Numbly blank.

It's the kind of thing she does remember from before, when people would ask her why she wasn't expecting Peter's infidelity, how she couldn't have known. It's the same emotion but tied up in a different bow. Like shock, but more along the lines of being in a body of water, not knowing how deep it is, going to put flailing feet on the ground, and finding nothing but abyss. That toss of her stomach, a bottomless pit.

She feels cold at the question, and she doesn't really know _why._

Will doesn't know what he's said until he's said it, and maybe that's the tragedy of being so effortless these days. Will doesn't think to hold back anymore.

"Why would you ask me that?"

Will finally does look at her, looks down at their hands.

She hadn't even realized she'd pulled hers away.

"I don't know," he shrugs, but she can tell she's hurt him from the way he gets mechanical, robotic. "It was just a thought."

Alicia blows air between her lips, tries to get her bangs out of her eyes.

She suddenly feels so, so tired. Wants to go home.

"It's not a pleasant one," she admits quietly, terse, looking back at the open road and going to hold Will's hand again. But instead, Will makes her hold hers flat. He pats it softly, lovingly, strokes little circles with his thumb, and he, he's trying to fix it too.

They've been doing so well.

"That's okay, Leesh" he assures. "We don't have to talk about that."

"Thanks."

She grimaces. The pistachios have made her sick at her stomach.

/

They find the ocean and it roars ominously, harsh against the sharp rocks.

Dinard is an elite place, and in the hotel restaurant they eat fresh fish and drink cognac, and conversation is not as flowing as it has been, but Alicia passes it off as exhaustion from the night before. She studies her wedding ring and Will rubs his hand across her thigh, and they share dessert that tastes too sweet.

There's a balcony in their suite.

She can hear the waves screaming beneath the building, right there at the sea. Metal railing digs into the flesh of her under thigh, and she's holding onto Will. She doesn't teeter because he won't let her, and it makes her want to laugh, how close she is to death. But that's a bitter, inappropriate thought, so instead she kisses Will like she's mad at him, like she wants to tear him apart.

That night they are side by side, face to face, when they fuck.

Have to work at the release, build up a sweat, muscles singing with fatigue, and after Alicia comes, burying her scream into the crook of his neck, Alicia traces Will's face and watches him fall asleep. He looks sad as he does, and that's the difference between then and now. Will knows when to push, and when not to. Not for the first time in their relationship, Alicia wishes he didn't know her quite so well. Stays awake one hour more, just like that.

She makes sure he's fully passed out before she lets the tears fall.

/

The next morning, she wakes alone, but doesn't have to go far to find him.

Will is out on the balcony, and the ocean looks just as violent as it sounded the night before. A wreckage to be seen, with the dark rocks and rippling whitecaps.

She's in nothing but a sheet, but it doesn't matter.

He barely looks at her when she moves next to him, pulling the cloth tighter around her, collecting her thoughts. She opens her mouth, closes it. Open it again.

"Grace," she speaks steadily. "She'd have had the name Grace."

Will's head snaps sideways, his nostrils flaring. "Alicia-

"No, Will. Listen. Just listen. It's silly, I know, but I thought about it, once. Someone said 'wouldn't it be funny if you ended up together', and I _thought about it," _she recalls, focusing on one jutting stone. "About marrying you and having kids, and I'd always wanted to name my daughter Grace. And it was _silly_, but I thought Grace Gardner sounded so perfect."

She's crying, then.

She's babbling and she can taste salt and smell it so heady, permeating everything, and then Will is pulling her in, to his chest, holding her and rocking her and she _hurts. _She aches all over.

"And I'm sorry," she tells him, and if she was any other woman the tone would be considered a wail, but she's not, she's Alicia, and Will is trying to hold her together by the seems right there in some foreign country. Trying to tell her it's alright, but she won't stop talking. "I do not regret my children, but I do regret never having children with you. I'm sorry you won't be a dad. You'd make such a great dad," Alicia whimpers into his skin, sniffling wetly.

Will's face crumples, and he kisses her cheeks, kisses her brow.

"I just need you," he tries to make her understand. "Just you, Leesh."

/

The drive along the coast is filled with meandering roads, and it's a peaceful aftermath, quiet. They're only on the road for two hours, and Alicia rolls down the window and relishes the cool breeze against her skin. She's driving, this time.

"Your hair is so curly," Will notes, half smiling. "I've missed it like this."

She hasn't had desire to put the usual product in it the past few days, and the humidity has made it resort to its natural texture. Alicia finds herself in tandem, fond.

"Me too."

/

Deauville is warm and sunny, and the beach is every bit as tourist ridden as one would expect. It becomes abruptly clear why Will had told her to pack a swimsuit. By the time they get their suitcases up into the room and have lunch at a little bistro on the boardwalk. She writes her name on the check.

She doesn't stare at it for as long as she did the very first time, but it still takes her breath away. She wonders if she'll ever get used to it.

It's a good kind of surprise, like Christmas every morning.

"This is my wife," Will introduces her to some a couple he meets in the hot tub, when she gets in. Her bathing suit is crimson and two piece and Will can't take his eyes off her, like she's the only thing. Kudos to Kalinda for helping her pick it out, she thinks, reminds herself to send a thank you via text later.

Alicia rests her palms flat on the bed and looks out at the blue water through the window while Will sinks his teeth into her shoulder and takes her from behind. To quiet her, Will puts a hand over her mouth, lets her bite down on his finger.

When she draws blood, he won't let her live it down.

/

They find a secluded spot on the private beach owned by the hotel and she's in this ridiculously floppy hat to hide her pale face and they spent an indecent amount of time putting sunblock on her, earlier, but there's a ninety percent chance she'll still burn. This is why Will saved this place for the very end of the trip.

His swim trunks are white, bright against the tan sand, and she buries her feet in it, leans back against him. When he flips them, it's abrupt. He pins her and crawls between her legs and kisses her languid and lean, she'll never tire of his kissing her, and she never wants it to end.

Sand gets _everywhere._

_/_

The sunset on the beach is one of the most beautiful sights Alicia Gardner has ever seen, and she's seen a lot of beautiful things. "What time is the car due back tomorrow?" she asks Will, biting her lip.

"Three," he informs her sadly. "But we'll come back, one day."

"Promise?" Alicia murmurs, stopping to dip her feet into the waves.

Will nuzzles her neck. "Promise."


End file.
